This House
by GhostInTheBAU
Summary: He was gone, and he wasn't coming back. He was never coming back. The love of his life had left him, and it had completely shattered his heart….


_So, over the last few weeks I've lost two people close to me. I realized writing helps me process my emotions, so that's how this little fic was born._

 _I took inspiration from the song **So Cold** by Ben Cocks._

 _Sorry for the angst..._

* * *

 **THIS HOUSE**

.

 ** _"_** ** _It's so quiet here, and I feel so cold."_**

 ** _\- Ben Cocks_**

.

He was alone now. For the first time since his entire world had been shattered, he was completely alone. The funeral was over and everyone had said their goodbyes. They'd gone back to their own homes—back to their own lives. The world would keep going, keep spinning, keep moving forward while he remained static. He felt like he was trapped in crushing, devastating, overwhelming grief. Thank goodness Jack was at Jessica's; he didn't know how he'd be able to put on a brave front for the boy.

After his friends had all left he'd sat down in the living room. He just sat there, still and staring into the distance through unfocused eyes. He wasn't trying to look at anything; he was just staring while he listened to the silence. He was just there.

It was obviously not the most productive thing he could be doing. Maybe he should try to do something more. There were many other things that needed to be done, after all. There would be things to do for quite a while. It's funny how when someone leaves you, they also leave behind so many things for you to do. Maybe that's a good thing, in a way. Having things to do keeps you busy so you're not sitting in a quiet room staring at a wall while your world falls apart around you.

There was food; he could put up all the food. There was so much food left over….and dishes. There were clean dishes in the dishwasher that needed to be put away. Jack's toys were littered throughout the room; if they weren't picked up he would step on a Lego at some point, it was inevitable….

.

 _Bodies come together; hands pull at shirts and tug at zippers, teeth bite lips._

 _"Need you…"_

 _Breath ghosts and nails scrape._

 _"Need you so much, Baby."_

 _"Don't wanna wait. Jack's gone. Please, I just want you to take me right here, right now."_

 _Clothes fall. Eyes search. Feet trip._

 _"Ow ow ow!"_

 _"Oh my god! Are you okay? What happened?"_

 _He hisses and lifts his leg._

 _"Nothing….it's nothing. Just a Lego to the foot…."_

 _Laughter fills the air._

 _"You should know you've gotta watch out for those pesky Legos."_

.

He packed up all the casseroles and desserts; trying his best to make room for them in the overflowing refrigerator. There was no way he and Jack would ever be able to eat it all. He didn't have much of an appetite at all right now and most of it would probably just go to waste. It was a shame, really. Who needed fifteen casseroles that would end up going bad in a matter of only a few days? He knew that people meant well, though. That was how some people coped with their grief and feelings of helplessness; they baked….

.

 _"Don't forget to eat. Promise me you'll eat. You need to eat."_

 _A gentle hand caresses his cheek and arms pull him into a soft, warm hug._

 _"We love you so much. You know that, right?"_

 _A tear rolls down his cheek._

 _"I know, Garcia. Thanks for the cupcakes."_

.

He roamed through the house, unsure of what he was really doing; he just felt like he needed to keep moving. If he stayed still again, he feared the pain would drag him under and he'd never resurface. If he kept moving, he could stay ahead of the ache, maybe outrun it somehow.

He walked into the bathroom and began to take in the painfully familiar space. Things would definitely need to be put away in here as well. Everywhere he looked, echoes of what he'd lost—who he'd lost—resonated….razors, aftershave, a bottle of his cologne. The towel he always used to dry his hair with was still draped over the rack and his bathrobe hung off the hook on the back of the door, just waiting for him to use them again. They would be waiting forever. He walked over to the sink and picked up the bottle of cologne, feeling the smoothness of its surface as he held it in his hands. He dared not spray it for fear of unleashing a tidal wave of memories that would most certainly destroy whatever thin veil of control he had over his emotions. Would he ever be able to smell that scent again without it being attached to the person it innately belonged to? Probably not….

.

 _"I know you're there, you know."_

 _He hears bare feet shuffle along hardwood._

 _"I was so quiet. What gave me away?"_

 _The bed dips and there's warmth radiating onto his skin from the body now hovering above him._

 _"Your smell. I'd know that scent anywhere."_

 _He tastes his lover as his mouth is invaded; tongues languidly flow together, slide in and out._

 _A whisper cuts through the heady air._

 _"If we get any closer, it'll be your smell too."_

 _There's a chuckle._

 _He moans at the thought._

 _"Please….make it so."_

.

He dropped the bottle into the sink, desperately needing to get it out of his hands as fast as possible as he tried to stop the flood of memories. He hastily rubbed at his tired eyes, subsequently wiping away a few rogue tears that just wouldn't stay at bay. The damn house was so fucking quiet. How was he going to stay here? How could he sleep here? It was just too still, the air too heavy. Everywhere he turned, all he saw was _him_. He was suffocating….

.

 _"I don't like you stayin' here all by yourself."_

 _A hand lightly squeezes his shoulder._

 _"I'll be okay, Morgan."_

 _"If you need_ anything _, you hear? Even if you just wanna to get outta here for a while, you call me. I'll come right over."_

 _He nods._

 _"I'll be fine."_

.

He had to get out of the bathroom. It was just too tiny, the walls too close together….they were closing in on him, he was sinking. There were too many of _his_ things everywhere. He couldn't keep seeing them.

Quickly, he turned and walked out, entering the master bedroom. Why he thought that room would be better, he had no fucking idea. That room probably held the most painful memories of all. Memories of their first slow dance together, the first time they'd made love, all the late night conversations they'd had tucked away just the two of them. The nightlight was still on; it was always on, even now, when everything seemed so immeasurably dark. He moved a little closer to the bed and stared down at it. He couldn't imagine sleeping in it all alone; it was entirely too big for just one person. He would get lost in it; he would drown in the massive emptiness….

.

 _"Daddy! Papa!"_

 _A small, wiggly ball of energy cannon balls into the middle of the bed._

 _The mattress shakes and the pillows fly into the air._

 _"Jack? What—What time is it?"_

 _He looks over to the clock and groans._

 _"It's 6:34am, Jack. That's way too early….."_

 _"But it's CHRISTMAS!"_

 _A giggle erupts from the boy's mouth._

 _"He's so excited. There's no way he's gonna let us sleep anymore. We should surrender and just get up."_

 _Laughter crosses his lover's lips, and a grin._

 _"Alright, let's get up and make some breakfast."_

 _He crawls out of the warm bed and stretches his arms high into the air._

 _Jack bounces out of the room and calls back from the hallway._

 _"Can you make your special pancakes, Papa?!"_

 _"Of course, Jack. Anything for you."_

.

He felt more tears streaming down his face, cascading unfettered from blood shot and weary eyes. The dam had broken and he couldn't hold the sorrow in any longer; he couldn't ignore the pain anymore. His anguish was bubbling up and threatening to explode, and he didn't know what would happen if he let it. His body trembled and his heart clamored in his chest as he took several deep, shaky breaths in an attempt to clear his head. Dark thoughts started to creep into him mind, thoughts he'd long ago laid to rest. There was one way he knew of that would allow him to fend off the growing agony. One thing that he'd kept from his past, hidden away and almost forgotten about, that could wash away the emptiness….just maybe.

Making up his mind, he turned to the door that led to the walk-in closet. He stepped in and crouched down to the floor where an old duffle bag sat. He hadn't used the bag in years. He unzipped the inside pocket and hesitantly pulled out a single little item. A glass vial filled with cool, clear liquid. He felt around in the bag a moment more until his hand met the other target—a needle and syringe. He let his trembling, aching body fall to the floor as he leaned his back against the wall. Looking down, his eyes landed on the items in his hand and his veins cried out for the blissful relief that could only come from the liquid within. Frantically, he opened the syringe and attached the needle. He was just about to insert it into the rubber stopper on the vial when he came to his senses….at least momentarily.

What the hell was he doing? Did he really wanna do this? Did he wanna throw away years of sobriety in the blink of an eye? He ran a shaky hand through his hair as he contemplated his next action.

He could take the drugs and feel nothing at all; but that feeling would only last for a little while and then the pain would undoubtedly come rushing back.

He could put the vial up and try to just go to sleep. Maybe the morning would be brighter. He immediately vetoed that option, though, because the mere thought of lying in that bed had bile rising up; and he had to choke it back down as he fought the urge to vomit. He couldn't sleep there; he didn't know if he would ever be able to sleep there again.

He could call someone. Everybody kept telling him to call if he needed anything. Maybe that's what he should do. No, not maybe….he knew that's what he should definitely do. He needed to call someone. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and glanced down at the lock screen. A sob escaped his throat and he almost threw the damn thing across the small space when he saw his family staring back at him. The three of them were all smiles, laughing and hugging each other. It was such a happy moment in time, captured forever, a reminder of what he'd lost.

He angrily wiped at his misty eyes once more and swiftly hit the second name in his contacts. He knew the first name would never pick up his calls again. He listened as it rang a couple times, and then a very groggy voice answered.

"Hello?"

"M-Morgan?"

"Oh, hey," he heavily sighed, "Sorry….I was kinda sleepin'."

"No, I'm—I'm sorry," he stammered, flustered by the thought of waking his friend up in the middle of the night, "I shouldn't have call—"

Morgan cut him off, "No no, Reid, it's fine. How are you doin'?"

"N-Not good." He took another good look at the vial in his hands, rolling it between his fingers and savoring the feel. He was practically salivating, and he bit his lip to keep from moaning at the thought of the ecstasy that was so close. He felt shame burning in his cheeks as he mumbled, "Really, not good…"

"You want me to come and get you?"

Did he? Did he want Morgan to come get him? Did he want Morgan to come stop him? He didn't want to be a bother, but if that were really the case then he shouldn't have called to begin with. He couldn't stop himself from thinking, though, that if he just took the drugs then everything would go away. The pain, the hurt, the loneliness….and the gut-wrenching emptiness that was clawing and ripping into his chest….all of that would disappear. He could make it all go away with just one tiny prick of a needle.

He let his mind wandered to thoughts of Aaron then. What would Aaron think if he could see Spencer right now? How would he feel if he saw him hiding in their closet, clutching desperately to a vial and contemplating shooting its contents into his veins? He knew what he would think. He would be so disappointed in him. But, the fact of the matter was that Aaron couldn't see him. Aaron couldn't think. Aaron couldn't be disappointed in him. Aaron was dead. Aaron would never see him again. He was gone, and he wasn't coming back. He was _never_ coming back. The love of his life had left him, and it had completely shattered his heart….

.

 _"Spencer, stay here."_

 _"No! I'm not letting you go in there alone, Aaron!"_

 _"He's after me, not you. Stay here, Reid. That's an order."_

 _Spencer watches his boss, and the absolute love of his life, walk away._

 _"Morgan, I can't just let him go in there alone—"_

 _Gun shots ring out._

 _He lunges forward; runs toward the building._

 _Strong arms grab him; pull him back._

 _He screams._

 _"Aaron!"_

.

"Pretty Boy? Hey, you still there? Reid?"

Spencer came out of the memory and shook his head to clear his thoughts as he anxiously answered, "Y-Yeah. Um, I….I need you to come get me."

"Ok, yeah," he murmured, "I just gotta throw on some clothes."

"Morgan…."

"Yeah?"

He took a deep, shaky breath and tearfully confessed, "I've got a vial of Dilaudid and a syringe in my hands. I'm about to shoot up. Please hurry."

"Dammit…." Morgan muttered under his breath, and then in a firm but gentle voice he evenly instructed, "Spencer, I need you to stay on the phone with me, ok? Don't you hang up. I'm on my way right now."

"O-Ok." He heard a car door slam shut and an engine roar to life, then the squeal of tires as Morgan's truck probably sped way too fast out of his driveway. He could feel the sting of more tears as they welled up in his eyes. "Morgan?" he sniffed.

"I'm comin', Reid. Just keep talkin' to me, Pretty Boy."

"How….how can this house— _our_ house—feel so cold and empty now? It's so quiet, the silence is deafening! I mean—I don't, I don't think I can stay here anymore. I can't—I just can't. It's not our home anymore, Morgan," he sobbed, and his body violently began to quake as he took another deep breath. "It's nothing—this house is nothing without Aaron. He left me here all alone. He left me here without him!" he was completely losing control as he let the overwhelming grief he'd been trying to hold in consume him. He was gripping the phone so tight his hand shook as he continued to lament through broken sobs, "H-How could he do that? Why did he l-leave me? Aaron was e-everything. I have nothing left! There's nothing left! N-Nothing!"

"Shhh. Reid, please, I need you to calm down," Morgan gently soothed, "I'm gonna be there real soon, ok? You just gotta to try and stay calm for me. Tell me where the drugs are. Are you still holding them?"

"Why did Aaron go where I can't follow, Morgan?" Spencer paused to consider his own question. His brows furrowed as more dark thoughts crept into his mind, and then he mumbled, "Did he go where I can't follow…."

"Reid?" there was an edge of panic laced in Morgan's voice, "Come on, man."

"I could follow him…."

"Don't you fuckin' think like that, Reid." Morgan made no effort to try to conceal the fear in his tone as he stressed, "You need to be strong until I get there. Can you do that? Reid? Dammit, Spencer, talk to me!"

"Derek, it hurts. It hurts so much," he wept, "Everything hurts _so_ _fucking_ _much_ …."

"I know. God, I know it does, Pretty boy," Morgan anxiously sighed, "Please, please just hold on, Spencer. Just keep holding on for me."

"I'm trying..." he whispered, "….but I really need you to hurry."

.

 ** _"_** ** _This house no longer feels like home."_**

 ** _\- Ben Cocks_**

.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading._


End file.
